A New Beginning
by SouthernChickie
Summary: What happened between "The Gathering" and "Family Tree" according to me. PG-13 for strong language. Complete.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimers: Not mine.  
  
Author's Note: Does it bug anyone that in "The Gathering" Richie's scared of Duncan and then in "Family Tree" all of a sudden they're great friends? When did Richie move in? Why did Richie mover in? This is my solution. . .  
  
A NEW BEGINNING  
  
"Stop that boy!" a woman yelled. "He has my purse!"  
  
Duncan looked towards the commotion and spotted a teen-age boy running towards him, dodging people on the sidewalk.  
  
"Stop him!"  
  
Not being able to just stand by, Duncan positioned himself in the young thief's path just as the boy glanced over his shoulder.  
  
"Ooff!" They collided. The boy looked up surprised as Duncan firmly gripped his shoulders. "You!"  
  
"It hasn't even been an entire day and you're already on your way to being arrested again."  
  
"Not if you let me go," the boy said.  
  
"Thank you, sir." The women panted catching up.  
  
"Just shut up and play along." Duncan hissed in the boy's ear. "I'm terribly sorry ma'am," he said to the woman handing her purse back. "I don't know how he slipped away from me. I'm Dr. Johanson, the head of the psychiatric ward at Seacouver General."  
  
"Psychiatric?" the women repeated.  
  
"Yes, this boy is deeply disturbed and has been exhibiting cleptomanic symptoms. I don't know how he got out, but we've been looking all over for him. I terribly sorry for the trouble he's caused, but as you see it's not entirely his fault. Thank you for finding him." He started to drag the boy away. "Again I'm terribly sorry."  
  
"It's okay," she assured him. "No harm done."  
  
Duncan smiled and continued to drag the boy in the direction of his car. When they rounded the corner the boy started fighting his grip.  
  
"Let me go!"  
  
"Richie, right?" Duncan asked ignoring his demands. "That's twice I've kept you out of jail. You owe me. And I plan on getting what is owed to me. Get in the car."  
  
"Hell no," Richie spat.  
  
"I can just call the police if that's what you want."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere with anyone," he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"Fine," Duncan handed him his business card. "Be at that address tomorrow at five, sharp. If you're late I'll call the police and tell them about today. I trust you remember how to get there?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie paused across the street from the Antique store. He hung his headphones around his neck and studied the building carefully.  
  
"If any of the weird crap starts happening again, I outa here," he told himself before crossing the street.  
  
"4:55, you're early," Duncan said looking up from the spear he was polishing.  
  
"You didn't say anything about being early, you just said don't be late," Richie replied irritably.  
  
"Well, it's good to be early, show you're egar to get started. You see those boxes?" He nodded at the boxes piled in the storage room.  
  
"Yeah, so? What about 'em?"  
  
"That's how you're going to start paying back what you owe me. I want them unpacked and you're going to do it for me."  
  
"Just unpack the boxes? That's it?"  
  
"Yes, for now." Shrugging, Richie put on his headphones and was about to play when Duncan stopped him. "That's a nice system," he commented. Richie groaned.  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"Where'd you get it?"  
  
"I bought it," he shrugged.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Five finger discount," Richie said before he thought about who he was saying it to.  
  
Duncan put his hand out expectantly. "In that case, I'll just be taking that."  
  
"What?" Richie demanded.  
  
"You can have it back, when you've earned enough to pay for it."  
  
"You're kidding right?"  
  
"You can give it to me, or you can give it to the police. And I'm pretty sure they won't give it back."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes and put his walkman in Duncan's hand. "Man, this blows! You do know blackmail is against the law, right?"  
  
"So is stealing," Duncan smiled.  
  
"Fuck you, man," Richie mumbled.  
  
"Do you want to work for the money to pay for the soap so I can wash your mouth out?"  
  
"God, dam- - - " Richie stopped and looked at Duncan. "No."  
  
"Then watch your language. You better get started. Those boxes won't unpack themselves."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*One week later*  
  
Duncan took the headphones off of Richie's ears. "You can go home, now."  
  
"No he can't," Tessa said. "He needs to help me first."  
  
Richie looked up at her. "What's up?"  
  
"I need you to hold something for me."  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "I just gotta hold it?"  
  
"Yes, while I weld it on."  
  
"Weld?" Richie squeaked. "As in a concentrated beam of fire, near what I'm going to be holding?"  
  
"I very rarely miss," Tessa assured him.  
  
Richie looked at Duncan for help. "How much more do you figure I owe you?" He asked.  
  
"Well, there's sixty for the window, three hundred for the sky light. . ." Richie's jaw dropped. "The purse incident, the vase yesterday, the walkman, and I'm sure some of the tapes you're always listening to. . ."  
  
"Wait, I didn't break the sky light, why do I have to pay for it?"  
  
"Somebody has to, and as long as you're around you might as well."  
  
"Three hundred bucks? That'll take me, like, forever!"  
  
"So I guess you have a job for awhile."  
  
"But- - but. . . why me? Tessa!"  
  
"Tomorrow I have a room I want you to start cleaning out. Now if you don't mind I'd like to work on my sculpture." She took him by the hand and dragged him into her workshop.  
  
Duncan smiled and listened to Tessa tell Richie what she wanted him to do. "As long as you stand still, you should be okay."  
  
"Should be? Mac! Come on! You're the boyfriend here, why can't you do. . . Shit that's hot!"  
  
"Watch your language, or I will burn you," Tessa threatened.  
  
"Will? You already have!" Richie complained.  
  
"Oh, you're such a baby."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*The next day*  
  
Richie fanned the air in front of his face. "Dude, that's vile! What is that smell?"  
  
"That's what I want you to find out."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's coming from in here." Duncan opened the door to the spare room in the loft upstairs from the Antique shop.  
  
"It smells like something died in there," Richie complained.  
  
"Why don't you go see?"  
  
"Let me guess, I do this or you call the cops, right?" Richie asked bitterly.  
  
"I was thinking of this or the bathrooms."  
  
"What a choice," Richie grumbled peering into the darkened room. "There any windows in there?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Richie took a deep breath and went into the room, "Holy- - -"  
  
"Watch it," Duncan warned.  
  
"You come in here and tell me that," Richie snapped opening the window. "I think I'm going to die." He sniffed the air and walked around the room peering behind the piles of boxes. "Essence of squirrel," he said after a minute.  
  
"Find it?" Duncan asked from the other end of the room.  
  
"Yeah." He tapped the animal carcass with the toe of his sneakers. "How'd it get in here?"  
  
"I don't know," Duncan crouched down and picked it up by its tail. He turned and dangled it in Richie's face.  
  
"Hey! Dude, that's disgusting!" Richie jumped back.  
  
"It's just a squirrel."  
  
"A dead one."  
  
"Fine," Duncan tossed the squirrel out the window into the dumpster in the alley. "So now you can start cleaning this place up. The boxes can go into the downstairs store room, but dust them first, and when you're done with those Tessa can tell you what to do with the rest."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie stood in front of the display case, mesmerized by the glittering mask displayed inside.  
  
"Taking a break are we?" Duncan asked, causing the boy to jump.  
  
"Huh? Oh, I uh, was just ah. . ." Richie stuttered. "Um, ah, the mask!" he finally managed to get out. "I was looking at the mask. It's kinda cool."  
  
"It's Inca. Solid gold. Strictly ceremonial," Duncan explained.  
  
"Solid gold?" Richie repeated looking back at the mask.  
  
"Don't get any ideas."  
  
"Hey! Dude, chill. Just lookin'. No need to get all possessive on me."  
  
"Just making sure." Duncan sniffed the air around Richie. "You smell pretty bad."  
  
"So did your squirrel friend. So does that room. So don't blame me."  
  
"You might as well go home now. I don't think I can stand that stench much longer," Duncan said with a smile.  
  
"It's your own fault, man," Richie said returning the smile.  
  
Duncan looked at his watch. "It's pretty late, maybe I should give you a ride."  
  
"Nah, I'm fine. I can air out a little this way."  
  
"I'd feel better if you let me drive you. I can put the top down."  
  
"Seriously, Mac. I'm fine."  
  
"Seriously, Richie," Duncan imitated. "I'm driving."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan pulled up to the curb. "So, this is it?"  
  
Richie nodded. "Yup."  
  
"It's nice."  
  
Richie smirked. "Yeah, I guess." He looked up at the clean white stone building.  
  
"You lived here long?"  
  
"Uh, about three months-ish. But in another week, who knows where I'll be."  
  
"That's right, almost eighteen."  
  
Richie looked at Duncan. "How'd you know?"  
  
"Powell told me when he was trying to get me to press charges after you broke in."  
  
"Oh. Thanks by the way, for that whole. . . not pressing charges thing."  
  
"We made a deal," Duncan shrugged. "So where are you off to after this?"  
  
Richie made a confused face and opened the car door. "Upstairs?"  
  
"No, I mean, after you turn eighteen."  
  
"Oh, honestly, I don't know. Kinda low on funds at the moment. . . " A concerned expression crossed his face. "You know, paying off old debts and stuff." He tried to play it off with a cocky smirk. "Maybe if I wasn't so caught up in paying for something I didn't do. I'd have a chance to make some money."  
  
"Maybe if you'd keep your nose clean, I'll give you that chance," Duncan replied in the same smug tone Richie had used.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Tomorrow, five," Duncan answered changing the subject and giving Richie a light shove out the door.  
  
"No, wait- -"  
  
"And take a shower, you smell like a dead squirrel."  
  
"Thanks a lot, Mac. Is this one of your 'all will be revealed in due time' things?" Richie asked changing the subject back.  
  
"Night, Richie." 


	2. Chapter 2

"Tessa, I wanted to talk to you about something," Duncan said as he handed her a glass of wine.  
  
"It sounds serious," she commented.  
  
"It's about Richie."  
  
Tessa cocked her head to one side. "What did he do?"  
  
"Nothing, I'm just a little worried about him."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Duncan thought for a moment. "He has a lot of. . . potential," he said slowly. "He'll be able to accomplish a lot in his life, and I want to start him off on the right foot."  
  
"That's very admirable of you."  
  
"And I've been thinking about something he said today when I dropped him off," he paused. "He's nearly eighteen, which means after his birthday he's on his own. And I don't think he's ready for that."  
  
"Duncan, what are you trying to say?"  
  
"How would you feel if Richie moved in with us?"  
  
"Moved in?" Tessa repeated. "I don't know, Duncan. Having him working here is completely different from him living here."  
  
"I know, but. . .can you just think about it?"  
  
Tessa sighed. "I'll think about it."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan looked at his watch. "Where is he?"  
  
At five after five Duncan had been curious, Richie had never been late. At a quarter after five he had been confused. At five thirty he was concerned. And now, at a quarter to six he was flat out worried. If he had learned anything about the boy in the past weeks, it was that Richie had a talent for shooting off at the mouth and getting himself into trouble. . . and he didn't have much talent when it came to defending himself. Duncan looked at his watch again, almost six.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
At eight thirty Duncan called Tessa from a pay phone at the mall.  
  
"He's still not there? Has he called? . . . No, nobody's seen him since this morning. . . I've been everywhere except the docks. . . Now why would he go there?" he rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll go and look. I will. . . I'll call back later. If he shows up keep him there. I want to talk to him. Bye."  
  
. . . . . . .  
  
Duncan never liked going to the docks; he hated the smell of raw fish. He had spent too much time on fishing boats in the eighteen hundreds and the smell of perspiration and fish had lingered with him for years. . . it still made him nauseous.  
  
"Excuse me," he stopped a man walking along the pier. "I'm looking for a boy who might have been here today. He's a couple inches shorter than me, blue eyes, blonde hair. . . "  
  
"Big mouth?" The man asked. "Bad attitude?"  
  
"Yeah, you seen him?"  
  
"Sure, he was kinda hard to miss, yelling at his dad the way he was."  
  
"His dad?" Duncan repeated. 'Richie doesn't have a dad,' he thought.  
  
"Well, the man kept calling him 'son'."  
  
"Yeah, that's him," Duncan quickly lied. "Are they still here?"  
  
"Last I saw. . . or heard. . ." the man laughed at his own joke. "They were goin' that-a way." He pointed to a row of warehouses.  
  
Duncan thanked the man and walked in the direction he had indicated. 'That boy is going to have some serious explaining to do if that guy's right and this is him,' Duncan thought angrily.  
  
He had almost made it to the end of the pier when a buzz began to resonate at the back of his skull.  
  
"Oh, no," he groaned. "Richie you'd better not be in there." He reached into his coat and drew his katana and slowly entered the warehouse. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," he called.  
  
"Mac!" Richie's panicked voice echoed through the darkened room.  
  
"Richie? Where are you?"  
  
"Um, I kinda, uh. . . I don't know!"  
  
"You don't know?"  
  
"Not really. I kinda can't see anything."  
  
"Keep talking I'll find you." Duncan slowly walked into the room.  
  
"Uh, okay, what's up?"  
  
"Where have you been?" He turned left.  
  
"Here."  
  
"This whole time? Why didn't you call?" He turned left again navigating his way around the steel support beams.  
  
"Sorry, Mac, I didn't have much of a choice."  
  
"That's a nice attitude to have towards someone who's here to rescue you." He stopped and waited for Richie's response.  
  
"Well it sure took ya long enough."  
  
"Didn't want you to think I liked you or anything." He turned back to the right.  
  
"So you waited until you couldn't stand the dust anymore, and then decided to come find me?"  
  
"Something like that." He stopped again, it sounded like he was standing where Richie was, but he couldn't find him. "Say something, I think I'm close."  
  
"Hey, why does it sound like you're under me?"  
  
Duncan stopped looking around himself and closed his eyes. "Oh, no," he said softly slowly lifting his eyes upward. "Hey, Rich, do me a favor and don't move."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just, don't move."  
  
"What's goin' on, Mac?" Richie demanded.  
  
"Don't move, okay. I'll come get you down." He looked for a way to get up to Richie.  
  
"Down!" Richie immediately began pulling at the ropes that bound him to the support beam. "Mac! What da ya mean, down?" He tentatively felt what he thought was the ground around him with his foot. He yelped when his foot slid off the crossbeam he was standing on. "Mac! Where am I?" Richie called out fear in his voice.  
  
"Richie, just don't move."  
  
A sinister laugh echoed through the warehouse. "Now how to get to him." A raspy voice sneered.  
  
"Mac?" Richie's throat tightened causing him to squeak. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Mac?"  
  
"Shut up, Richie!" Duncan yelled. "Show yourself," he demanded of the disembodied voice.  
  
A large figure stepped out of the shadows a few sword lengths away from Duncan. "You killed my student," the man growled holding up a German broadsword.  
  
"Is that what this is about?" Duncan asked casually.  
  
"Nobody has ever killed one of my students and gone on living."  
  
"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" Duncan took off his coat and tossed it aside. "But you're more than welcome to try."  
  
Richie had been listening to the conversation but still jumped when he heard the first clang of the two swords meeting. Not two weeks ago he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the fight on the bridge, he had been scared but fascinated. But now, not being able to see what was happening he was terrified. He couldn't tell who was winning . . . But he knew that somehow he wasn't on the ground with the battle. He didn't want to be that close, but he wanted to be on the ground.  
  
"Slan came looking for me," he heard Duncan say. "You should have taught him not to get in over his head. Then he would still have his."  
  
"You won't have yours for much longer," the other immortal replied.  
  
Richie pulled and twisted the ropes around his wrists. He could feel his wrists getting burned by all the movement, but he didn't care, he wanted the damn blindfold off. He jerked and pulled but couldn't get himself free.  
  
The two immortals on the ground circled each other taking a moment to catch their breath and preparing to be attacked. "How you doing, Rich?" Duncan called not taking his eyes off the other immortal.  
  
"I'm good," he answered, his voice higher pitched than normal. "How about you?"  
  
"I'll be done in a minute, just don't move."  
  
"You'll be done alright," Slan's teacher scoffed lunging in for an attack.  
  
Duncan sidestepped throwing the other immortal off balance and sending him stumbling forward a few paces. Duncan sliced at the man's stomach as he positioned himself behind the wounded immortal. Not giving him a chance to recover, Duncan held his sword high above his head and swung it down severing the immortal from his head.  
  
Richie gulped as an eerie calm washed over the warehouse and the hairs on his arms stood up. He had only felt this sensation once before, when Duncan had taken Slan's head on the bridge. His heart pounded as a raw, primordial scream echoed around him. A strong wind blew around him and he could feel the electricity in the air. Even through the blindfold he could see bursts of light as lightning crackled around him. After a few minutes the wind died down and the lights stopped flashing. Richie let go of the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He strained his ears, but couldn't hear anything.  
  
"Mac?" he called softly wondering if he should be attracting attention to himself. There was no answer. "Mac?" he tried again.  
  
Duncan leaned against a steel beam and tried to catch his breath and slow down his racing heart. He could hear Richie calling him, but couldn't find his voice to answer. Still over whelmed by the powerful quickening he had just received he looked around for a way to get to Richie. He spotted a narrow staircase against the far wall of the room. Taking a final deep breath, he began to walk towards it, staggering slightly.  
  
Richie heard a muted clang like someone walking up a metal staircase. He swallowed hard and waited for whoever was approaching him to say something.  
  
Duncan slowly walked across the crossbeam towards Richie careful not to shift his weight too much for fear of slipping off the edge of the foot- wide beam. He chuckled lightly as Richie began to press himself as far back as he could from him. At the sound of his laugh Richie started panicking and opened his mouth allowing an uncharacteristic whimper escape.  
  
"Richie?" Duncan said softly trying not startle the boy as he put his hand on his shoulder.  
  
Still unaware of who was with him, and not being able to eaisly identify the heavily accented voice speaking to him, Richie screamed and pulled away. Duncan jumped back at the sudden movement and lost his balance. He immediately reached out and grabbed both of Richie's shoulders to balance himself.  
  
"Richie! Calm down it's me," he said as the boy began to fight his grip. Richie stopped.  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"Yeah, who did you think it was?"  
  
"You didn't sound like you," Richie explained as Duncan took his blindfold off. He blinked a couple of times getting used to the low light, then looked up at Duncan. "So exactly, how up are we?" he asked.  
  
"Very."  
  
Slowly Richie allowed his eyes to travel downward, he gulped and closed his eyes. "Oh, man," was all he could say. 


	4. Chapter 4

"You can stop panicking, you're fine," Duncan said gripping the beam "Don't move," he carefully slid around Richie. "Are you okay?" he asked picking at the knots.  
  
"Uh-huh," Richie said, although his tone suggested he was anything but.  
  
"Are you scared of hights?" Duncan asked with a chuckle unwinding the ropes from around Richie's wrists.  
  
"Only when there's a chance of plummeting to my doom," Richie shot back defensively.  
  
"Don't move," Duncan said again sliding around to face Richie. "Well the sooner you let go, the sooner you'll be on solid ground."  
  
Richie swallowed and looked back down, then up at Duncan. "Is now a good time to mention I don't exactly have the best sense of balance?"  
  
"Then how did you get up here?"  
  
"I didn't know I was 'up' anywhere until you said something."  
  
Duncan smiled, he couldn't decide if Richie was more scared or more embarrassed because he was scared. "I guess I'll see you later." He turned around and began to make his way back to the catwalk that ran along the wall.  
  
"You're just going to leave me here?" Richie took a cautious step forward.  
  
"What am I supposed to do, carry you?"  
  
"No, but. . . holy crap I'm gonna die." He looked down, but continued making small steps toward Duncan.  
  
Duncan rolled his eyes, "You're not going to die."  
  
"Easy for you to say, you have more than a foot of steel under your feet. I couldn't even do this on the curb when I was a kid, and forget the balance beam I was a lost cause when it came to that, I can't walk in a straight line no matter how sober I am," Richie rambled as he walked.  
  
"If you're such a lost cause, how come you made it?"  
  
Richie looked down at his feet standing securely on the catwalk. "Because I totally lucked out," he mumbled. "Can we go now?" He headed for the stairs.  
  
"Well I wasn't planning on staying here." Duncan followed him down the stairs. He nearly ran into Richie, who had frozen at the bottom of the stairs and was staring at the headless body lying on the floor thirty feet away. "Richie. . ." he started.  
  
"You know that's the second time you've done that since I've known you?" the boy said in a strangely casual voice.  
  
"I need to explain a couple things to you."  
  
"I'll say. . . I don't have to go past him to get out of here, do I?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Mac! Would ya knock it off? I'm fine!"  
  
"You're bleeding."  
  
"Was bleeding," Richie corrected trying to pull his face out of Duncan's hand. Tessa entered the loft living room with some cotton balls and a bottle of disinfectant.  
  
"If you would just sit still this would all be over a lot faster," she said handing Duncan a cotton ball.  
  
"What did he do, hit you in the face with a two by four?" Duncan asked turning Richie's head to clean the large gash on his right cheek.  
  
"Somfin' wik tha," Richie answered as best he could with Duncan's hand holding his jaw still. "Ouch!" he yelped when Duncan accidentally bumped his nose making fresh blood run down the dried tracks already there.  
  
"Well, if you'd stop moving. . ." Duncan mumbled tilting Richie's head back and wiping at the blood.  
  
"I didn't!" Richie insisted. He moved to take the cotton from Duncan only to have his hand slapped away. "Maa-aac!" he whined.  
  
"Acting like a child is not going to help you any, just don't move."  
  
"Do you have any idea how sick I am of hearing you say that?" Richie groaned in a nasal voice wincing as Duncan pinched his nose.  
  
"About as tired as I am of saying it."  
  
"Anything else hurt?" Tessa asked inspecting Richie face for any bumps or bruises they might have missed.  
  
"Just my pride," Richie said with a wave of his hand.  
  
"Look at your wrists!" she exclaimed grabbing his hand for a closer look. They were raw and pink, turning a strange shade of purple, with small scrapes all around.  
  
"It's nothing, doesn't even hurt," he said looking at her out of the corner of his eye as Duncan still had a firm grip on his nose.  
  
Acting on an instinct Tessa lifted Richie's arm and pushed the sleeve of his T-shirt back. She found a bruise forming across his bicep and running under his arm. She poked it lightly and made him jump.  
  
"AGH!" he yelled as his jump slammed his nose into Duncan's hand. He leaned forward then leaned back as far as he could trying to keep the blood from spilling any further onto his shirt. "Just get the hell off me!" he barked pushing Duncan away as he leaned in to help. "You know it just figures that I'd make it this far in life just to bleed to death on your couch because you guys keep trying to make everything better!" He pinched his nose, which he now figured without a doubt was broken.  
  
"Let me get some ice or that's going to swell," Tessa said getting up from the couch.  
  
"It already has," Richie mumbled. Duncan reached over and placed his hand lightly on Richie's. Richie tried to push it away but Duncan insisted.  
  
"Richie, let me look." He lifted the boy's hand and lightly touched his nose. "It's broken," he declared.  
  
"I could have told you that," Richie snapped.  
  
"Get up," Duncan patted his knee.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We're going to the emergency room."  
  
"Mac, no. I'm fine." Richie turned his head and looked directly at Duncan.  
  
"You're nose is broken and you look like you've been shot you've got so much blood all over you."  
  
"Mac. . ."  
  
"Richard. . ." Duncan said in a sternly.  
  
"Richard?" Richie repeated a mixture of surprise and annoyance in his voice. "You make it sound like I'm in trouble or something."  
  
"You're about to be."  
  
"Who do ya think ya are, my fuckin' dad or somethin'?" Richie demanded jumping to his feet. Duncan opened his mouth to reprimand his language but Richie interrupted him. "Sorry, sorry, just. . . I have a thing with hospitals and doctors and stuff. . . besides what am I going to tell them when they ask what happened? I ran into a door?"  
  
"Tell them you got into a fight," Tessa suggested placing a towel of ice in Richie's hand.  
  
"Really? And where's this guy I got into a fight with? What happened to him?"  
  
"You lost," Duncan shrugged. 


	5. Chapter 5

Polly~ Okay so I thought it over and decided to go with the hospital scene. Richie with a 'tude is fun to write about. So just for you I give you the first scene of this chapter in the hospital.  
  
Richie slouched in the hospital waiting room arms crossed and pouting looking about half of his nearly eighteen years. Duncan looked at the form in his hands, then up at Richie.  
  
"Do you know any of this stuff?" he asked.  
  
Richie looked at him with a knowing smirk, "I know I had the chicken pox when I was seven," he replied smugly. "But as far as the next of kin shit goes, nothin'." Duncan cleared his throat and glared at Richie making the teen shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "What?"  
  
"Replay that last sentence in your head and tell me what was wrong with it."  
  
"Did I end it in a preposition?"  
  
"Try again."  
  
"Fine, sorry. But I told you, I don't like this stuff."  
  
"Richie!" A short dark haired woman raced up to him and immediately started inspecting his face. Richie glared at Duncan out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Hi, you must be Duncan, I'm Marcus White." The woman's husband introduced himself.  
  
"Oh, yes, hi," Duncan stood up and shook Richie's current foster father's hand. "Sorry I didn't call you sooner. . ." he started to apologize.  
  
"Oh, I understand. You probably have to tie him down before he let you call." He turned to Richie who was patiently waiting for the woman to let go of his face and still glaring at Duncan.  
  
"Katherine, let the boy breath, fussing over him won't help." Katherine looked up and went over to Duncan.  
  
"I'm sorry, I just saw him like that and all my maternal instincts went crazy, I'm Katherine. . . oh, let me deal with all the paper work." She took the clipboard from Duncan's hands and busied herself filling it out as best she could.  
  
Duncan turned and watched Marcus and Richie. "So Mr. MacLeod says you got into a fight," Marcus was saying.  
  
"Mac has a big mouth," Richie replied bitterly resuming his pouting position.  
  
"So how did the other guy look once you got done with him?"  
  
"Do ya see 'em here? I kinda lost," he snapped.  
  
"You know if you'd just let me show you some moves my old man taught me you can go kick the guy's butt tomorrow." Marcus continued seemingly oblivious to Richie's attitude.  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should just ask my old man to- - oh wait that's right. . . never mind."  
  
"Well, I'm just going to let you take it from here," Duncan said. "Richie, why don't you take a couple days off and come by sometime Friday."  
  
"Fine, whatever, see ya later."  
  
"Good," Duncan decided not to push Richie any further and let his attitude slid, "I'll tell Tessa, but don't be surprised if she calls to check up on you."  
  
"Whatever," Richie repeated not looking at him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Riche looked confusedly at the 'CLOSED' sign in the window as he opened the door.  
  
"Hello?" he called.  
  
"Come on up!" Duncan yelled from the loft.  
  
"Why you guys closed?"  
  
"We're celebrating." Duncan met him at the top of the stairs. "You look a lot better, I take it a couple days off was just what you needed," he commented looking at the nearly healed cut on Richie's cheek. "You can barely even notice your nose." Richie's hand immediately flew up to cover his still slightly swollen nose. Duncan noticed Richie had taken to wearing his watch on one arm and a couple bracelets on the other to cover his wrists when the sleeves of his jacket didn't completely get the job done. "Come here, I want to show you something." He led Richie to the spare room.  
  
"So what are you celebrating? You Jewish or something?" Richie asked trying to figure out what religion had a holiday in mid-September.  
  
Duncan laughed, "Something like that. . . What do you think?" He opened the door.  
  
"Oh, hey, you finished it." Richie walked into the room. "Guest room, huh? Looks good."  
  
"Figured you'd want to see what you'd been working on. Do you want to stay for dinner?"  
  
Richie turned around, slightly embarrassed but the blunt invitation. "If you guys got somethin' going, I mean, I didn't mean to interrupts or anything, I was just dropping cause you told me to."  
  
"You're not interrupting, besides we had tones of food, even if you join us."  
  
Richie smiled and rolled his eyes. "You sure you don't mind?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Well, if your sure. . ." Richie couldn't bring himself to look Duncan in the eye as he accepted the invitation.  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan began to clear the dishes once everyone had finished. When Richie began to get up to help he had to practically force him back into his chair insisting that he as a guest.  
  
"Mac, come on. . ."  
  
"You complain when I ask you to do something, you complain when I tell you not to, shut up and sit," Duncan ordered with a smile.  
  
Tessa engaged Richie in conversation carefully distracting him from what Duncan was doing in the kitchen. She discovered Richie had a flare for telling stories and got him talking about his childhood adventures.  
  
"You sound like you were a bit of a handful," she commented.  
  
"A bit?" Richie laughed. "I was worse than Denise the Minace and Huck Finn combined. You couldn't trust a word that came out of my mouth, I was always into everything, and good luck tellin' me what to do and gettin' me to actually do it."  
  
"How is that any different from now?" Duncan asked keeping his back to the table.  
  
"Very funny, Mac."  
  
"I'm just saying you're still a bit of a handful," Duncan said turning around.  
  
Richie twisted in his chair to reply, but whatever he was going to say left him when he spotted the birthday cake complete with eighteen glowing candles in Duncan's hands.  
  
"Happy birthday," Tessa said with a grin.  
  
"My birthday's not for another two days," Richie said awkwardly with a shy grin.  
  
"Wouldn't you have been a little more suspicious if we had invited you to dinner on Sunday?" Duncan said placing the cake in front of Richie. "Make a wish."  
  
Richie got a somber look on his face and he stared at the candles for a couple seconds before taking a deep breath and blowing them out.  
  
"Welcome to adulthood," Duncan said.  
  
"That's a scary thought," Richie laughed.  
  
"We got you something." Tessa handed him a small box.  
  
"What is it?" Richie asked.  
  
"A present," she answered.  
  
Not quite sure how to react to all the attention he was getting Richie opened the box. Inside were three keys: two brass and one aluminum. He looked up at Duncan and Tessa.  
  
"I don't get it," he said slowly.  
  
"We figure any employee should have a key to the store. That goes to the front door and that goes to the back door," Duncan explained pointing to the two brass keys.  
  
"Employee? As in I'm going to get paid instead of blackmailed?"  
  
"That would be the idea, yes."  
  
Richie's shy grin turned into a wide smile. "Cool."  
  
"Don't you want to know how much we're going to pay you?" Tessa asked unable to keep her own smile from her face.  
  
"Whatever it is, it's more than I make now," Richie said happily.  
  
"$250 a week more," Duncan told him.  
  
"Two. . . two hundred and fifty?"  
  
"Plus I'm sure you can make a little extra doing odd jobs if you want. But there is one condition."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"$200 of it goes in the bank, every week no exceptions."  
  
Richie's face fell. "Look, I mean to sound ungrateful or anything. . But that leaves me fifty dollars a week and I'm going to have some expenses. Two hundred a month might cover food and gas but not rent, too."  
  
"All you need to do is find a rent controlled building."  
  
"That's not as easy as it sound," Richie said softly looking at the table.  
  
"You'd be surprised. It just so happens that we know a couple who owns one. And they have an empty room waiting so you can move in." Duncan reached over and picked up the third key from the box and held it up in front of Richie. "That's not a guest room."  
  
Richie looked up and met Duncan's gaze. "You mean. . . here?" he looked over at Tessa. She smiled and nodded. "Are you serious?"  
  
"You need to have some money in the bank set aside for later. The less you have to spend the more you can save. Think of it like a nest egg. Fifty dollars a week spending money is more than enough," she explained.  
  
"So the deal is, two hundred a week goes in the bank, you leave it there until you're twenty-one, then you can do whatever you want with it," Duncan added. "You do that, you can live here rent free until then."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. . . wait a minute. Let me see if I got this right. . . You guys are going to pay me $250 a week, plus odd jobs and I get to stay here for free?"  
  
"As long as two hundred goes in the bank," Tessa added.  
  
"You don't think you're getting a raw deal, do you?" Duncan asked.  
  
"No, no. . . I think you guys are getting the raw deal," Riche clarified.  
  
Duncan thought a moment. "Fine, I'll tell you what. . . you do the odd jobs for rent money, but the rest of the deal stands."  
  
"Still sounds like the scales are tipped a bit in my favor, if you ask me," Richie said his smile returning.  
  
"It's our final offer, take it, or leave it," Tessa said.  
  
"I'd be pretty stupid not to take it. . . but I still think you guys are getting a raw deal."  
  
Duncan smiled and put his hand on Richie's shoulder. "Let us be the judge of that. You just be packed and ready to move on Sunday." 


End file.
